The King & the Bird, or the first time you held me in Paris

Paris

The apartment was blue, and it wasn’t cold. Moving pictures, paper princesses flashed across the screen, and I watched from behind your tousled brown hair, as the strands tickled the tip of my nose.

I was in a typical Parisian apartment, and by that I mean it was filled with unanswered questions, unexplored corners, cigarette smoke and no pressing need to change any of that. Continue reading “The King & the Bird, or the first time you held me in Paris”